


A Million Jars of Nutella

by serendipitee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (kinda), Food Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam knows it's going to be a long night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Jars of Nutella

When Liam witnesses Niall fishing a jar of Nutella out of his kitchen cabinet, body long and lithe and leaning into the counter as he stretches up on his tiptoes to reach it, he knows it’s going to be a long night.

Technically, what he’s already gone through could be considered a long night.  Harry’s eighteenth birthday was something he’d known for a long time was going to be a total clusterfuck, but it even surpassed those expectations.  Hazza had insisted on a (as Louis liked to put it) “swag-tastic” birthday party, and of course Niall had been the first to agree when he suggested that they dress up a bit to compliment the occasion and make it seem like they were actually all adults now (instead of the children they all knew they were).

And Niall is nothing if not mouthwateringly, disgustingly,  _blisteringly_  hot while wearing a suit.

So Liam has already had to sit through hours of Hazza getting legally drunk off his  _ass_ and attempting to shed every layer of clothing despite London’s predictably horrid weather and Louis’s inane intoxicated giggling and Zayn trying to fuck everything that came within a kilometer of them and has had to do it all while Niall, his gorgeous best friend, just watched and laughed, snow falling on his eyelashes.

And now that fucker was partly out of his suit, tie untied and jacket abandoned by the front door and shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down his chest and reaching for a jar of fucking Nutella.

Liam loves Nutella.  He loves Nutella more passionately than he hates that slip-slidey, metallic texture of a spoon in his mouth.  Which is saying something.

And he must have made some kind of noise, because Niall’s looking at him, jar in hand with a question in his eyes.  Those bright blue fucking eyes—and maybe he really shouldn’t be so angry right now, especially not when he knows everyone’s safe and Harry’s happy, but Jesus Christ, the sexual frustration in itself is enough to make him want to punch holes through walls.  

Niall doesn’t even have any idea what kind of effect he has on people; he doesn’t know that those eyes make Liam trip over his own feet and pant quietly into the morning air after having dreamt about them.  He doesn’t know that his braces are probably the single most adorable thing Liam’s ever seen, or that his laugh makes Liam’s stomach swoop and  _never fails_  to improve Liam’s day about ten thousand percent.  He doesn’t know that a lot of Liam’s thoughts about him lately have strayed out of ‘best friend’ territory—that Liam wants to know what Niall looks like spread out on his sheets; what his name sounds like as a sigh from those perfect pink lips; how soft his skin is.  He just doesn’t know.  

Really, how would he?  Liam is nothing if not the sturdy member of the group.  He couldn’t risk it (the group  _or_  his sanity) just to have Niall know that he had a huge, decidedly painful crush, especially when it definitely wouldn’t pan out.  Niall is straight.

“Liam?” the Irish boy is looking at him weird now. “You okay?”

Liam blinks out of his thoughts and nods, a fake grin plastering itself on his face. “Fine.”

It’s obvious in the way that Niall lets his eyes fall back down to the Nutella that he knows something is up, but he doesn’t bring it up, just attempting to unscrew the cap.  Niall knows Liam like the back of his hand, and he is well aware that Liam’s instinct to let everyone else come before him is going to overrule any talking about himself that might have occurred.  

The top of the jar gets stuck as Liam watches Niall struggle to open it.  Niall tries a few times himself to get it, but with an irritated sigh and a grudging glance, he slides it down the counter to where Liam’s sitting and crosses his arms over his chest.

Liam laughs at the smaller boy’s pout and takes the jar in his hands, his upset starting to fizzle away as the happiness of just being around Niall replaces it.  It doesn’t take more than a flick of his wrist before the cap is off. “Weakling,” he accuses, and the scathing glare he gets in return makes him giggle again.

Niall just huffs at him, and in a cruel twist of fate, sticks his two first fingers right into the dark brown spread.  And all of a sudden, Liam’s good feelings are all gone.

He knows what’s going to happen before it does, but that doesn’t necessarily make it less astounding.  He watches Niall’s bright pink tongue dart out from between his lips to lick the Nutella off the tips of his fingers in abject horror.  And what he’s feeling right now is certainly horror, mostly because he has never been so jealous of someone’s body parts and partly because there is a definitive stirring in his pants seeing  _that_.

He’s trying his hardest to maintain control in his nether regions when Niall does it again, this time sticking his Nutella-coated pointer finger into his mouth and sucking.  The Irish boy lets out a low breath and hollows his cheeks to get the chocolatey stuff from his skin, and it feels literally like torture—like someone did this to him on purpose—and he also happens to feel about  _this close_  to jizzing in his pants.  So before he knows what he’s saying, tortured by the sight of fingers sliding out from Niall’s mouth still wet with saliva, he blurts out “You really shouldn’t put those in there.”

Niall opens his eyes in surprise, like he had forgotten Liam was there for a moment, before granting him an unidentifiable look and a lopsided grin to match. “What, my fingers?”  And maybe Liam is hallucinating, but he’s pretty sure that the current beneath Niall’s sea-blue eyes is not one that he has seen before.  It might be his hormones at it again, but Liam thinks that Niall might be  _flirting_.  

“Do you mean in the can, or in my mouth?” Niall prompts, pointing vaguely to the Nutella before tracing his fingertips along his bottom lip.  And no, Liam is most definitely not hallucinating—he better not be.  

And Niall is still staring at him, expecting an answer, so Liam says something like “The can.  You know, germs spreading and all that,” but he can’t really remember the exact words because he’s too busy thinking about the wank he’s definitely going to have later over this.

Niall pouts at the answer, and oh, god, this is getting worse. “But,” he whines, “it tastes better off of my fingers.”  As if to prove his point, Niall shoves his fingers back into the Nutella and scoops some out, sticking his chocolate-and-hazelnut-covered hand into Liam’s face. “Try it!”

Liam wrenches his head back far enough to avoid the digits, and he pushes Niall’s arm away.  He’s sure now that the spark in Niall’s eye was alcohol, not desire, and he doesn’t think it’s a very good idea to do something that might compromise their friendship later, though his lower body is screaming in disagreement. “No, no, no, it’s alright.  I’ll take your word for it.”

But Niall is coming closer to him, slight drunken smile gone in favor of an upset tinge to the blue in his eyes.  He steps in between Liam’s opened knees where they rest on the edge of the counter and looks up as Liam tries to back away more, stopped by the cabinet against the back of his head. 

Niall’s eyes are doing that somehow prying, pleading thing that only a few people have ever really seen.  It’s the same look he gave Liam the morning after his eighteenth birthday as the Irish man lay on the tiles of his bathroom floor and whimpered sickly; it’s the same look he gets when the boys are really far from home and he can’t remember what his mum’s cooking tastes like.  It’s the look that seems to seep into Liam’s skin and take him apart from the inside, melting all of his resolve and stoutness into a puddle of protective, affectionate goo.

Niall waggles his fingers in Liam’s face again with that very look, and whatever sheen of alcohol he’d seen in the lad’s eyes before was gone. “Please?”  It sounds like begging.

So he does.  Liam takes Niall’s wrist in his hand, not quite noticing the glee on Niall’s face when he does so, and puts the boy’s two first fingers in his mouth.  

Niall was right—the Nutella does taste fantastic off of his skin.  That’s why Liam drags his tongue along that skin to pull as much of the spread off as he can, and why he moans thickly around Niall’s fingers.

He knows without even looking at Niall that something changes with that little vocalization. Niall’s wrist goes limp in his fingers, and when he finally pulls his eyes up from looking at Niall’s hand, he sees Niall’s eyes directed down toward the marble Liam sat on top of.  At least, he hopes that Niall is looking at the counter and not the crux of his trousers, which seem to have shrunk three sizes.

When Niall’s eyes flick back up to him, a few things are immediately obvious.  One: he was definitely not looking at the counter.  Two: Niall had no qualms with the  _issue_  at hand.  Three: the grin blinding him at the current second is something he’s seen Harry do to unsuspecting women and girls alike to lure them into his bedroom. 

And Niall’s hand is snaking over Liam’s dress pants to rest on his thigh, precariously close to the zipper, fingertips digging slightly into the smooth, shiny fabric.  The feeling makes Liam sit up straighter, scoot closer to the edge of the counter, let his knees bracket around Niall’s slim hips.  Niall’s eyelashes, long and enticing, flutter prettily under yellow bangs. “I told you so.”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes as Niall edges further into his space, the hand that isn’t on Liam’s leg tracing up his arm and over the ridge of his shoulder to come behind his neck. “Yeah, I suppose you did.”

Niall’s fingernails scrape gently against the back of Liam’s neck, and it’s such a complete contrast to the sexy look in Niall’s eyes that Liam has to fight the irrational urge to laugh.  He doesn’t have to force it away for very long, though, because Niall’s face is getting closer and his eyes are closing, and oh.

_Oh._

Niall’s lips are as soft and sinful as he’s imagined all along, and oh, yes, it feels fantastic to actually  _know_  that.  It feels fantastic that he knows what Niall’s tongue tastes like (delicious, even after the mingling hazelnut-and-chocolate aftertaste fades) and how hot his breath is against Liam’s skin (enough to make him sweat and swear at the ceiling) and how deft he is with his guitar-string-callused fingertips ( _very, holy shit, VERY_ he thinks, head smashing backwards into his pillow).  He figures out what Niall really does look like spread out across his sheets (beautiful, so beautiful) and what his name sounds like coming out of Niall’s mouth as a sigh (choked and desperate sometimes, and sometimes soft and so full of love it hurts) and how soft Niall’s skin is (all over the place it’s like silk, cream-colored and perfect).  

Most importantly, Liam knows what Niall looks like in the morning.  He wakes up to the feeling of lips across his collarbone and someone’s weight across his hips, allowing himself a moment to pray that this wasn’t a dream before opening his eyes.

Niall is just as perfect in the morning as he was the night before.  Blue eyes glowing down at him and color high in his cheeks, Niall smiles down at Liam as if he’s never seen anything like him.  And when he leans down to kiss Liam, the Wolverhampton boy doesn’t close his eyes until the freckles on the bridge of Niall’s nose blend together.  

Niall plays idly with the surely messy hair on top of Liam’s head and whispers something that sounds a lot like “I love you” into his lips.  The thing is, Liam’s pretty sure that tastes better than a million jars of Nutella ever could. 


End file.
